“I guess that means we’re broke, huh?” Glory laughed. They always went there when they didn’t have much money and wanted to get away from the hospital to talk in private.
“Now, Glory, yah know you love Wendy’s,” Sophia said.
“Yeah, seriously, it’s my idea of gourmet.”
The three sat at a small table, talking about what had been going on in their lives. Kate and Sophia filled Glory in on all the hospital gossip.
Glory told her story about making the hardest decision she’d ever faced, that of taking her mother off of life support. She saw the compassion and sorrow in their eyes, sharing her feelings, taking them into their own hearts as only true friends could do.
She didn’t mention the nightmares—burning in the dark chamber without air—as if to speak of it would somehow make it real. Nor did she mention the black, misty smoke; the opaque, barely visible face of what she assumed was the very countenance of the Grim Reaper.
“You’re one of the strongest women I know, Glory. You always have been. No matter what happens, you always find some inner strength you didn’t know you had,” Sophia quietly remarked, her hand warm and soft on hers. Sophia had the most delicate, long, white fingers. Her touch was, as soft and light as the feathers of an angel’s wing.
Glory questioned her strength. If going into auto pilot when faced with stressful events was strength, then, yes, she did have it.
Kate and Sophia were the kind of friends that fed the soul. Glory knew that those were hard to come by in this world and she was fortunate to have them.
In fact, as she reflected on her life on the whole, she believed she was lucky, very lucky indeed.
Chapter 7
In the fall of two-thousand and one, Glory drove to work surrounded by a beautiful, picture perfect morning; the kind people lived for in New England. The sun shone through the autumn trees, the rays touching and illuminating the trees, creating a magnificent collage of colors— orange, yellow, and blazing red. This was how the morning of September eleventh; two-thousand and one began.
Glory was on the phone with a client when she heard a great deal of commotion coming from her co-workers. Everyone was crowded around the television in the reception area, watching something she couldn’t see on CNN. Some ran from the sight, making frenzied telephone calls.
“My God,” whispered the client and told her to “go watch the news” before abruptly hanging up.
“A plane just smashed into the World Trade Center,” Kate told Glory, her eyes wide with shock.
The time was 8:46 am. While everyone was still reeling, watching the inferno coming from the side of the North Tower, a mere seventeen minutes later, on live television, the second plane hit the South Tower at 9:03 a.m. Approximate travel speed at the time of impact was five hundred and ninety miles per hour.
The office became complete chaos, everyone talking all at once and then silence as the shock and horror of set in. Who would dare to attack the United States on its own soil?
At that moment in time, the country was totally united, watching in real time as people jumped out of the sky scrapers to their death to escape the burning buildings. They simply had no other way to get out.
The initial shock and horror mingled with sorrow as the photo-journalists taking pictures at the scene lay down their cameras, fell to their knees, and wept.
The manager at Mainely Paws, Aileen was visibly shaken, trembling, her eyelashes gleaming with tears. She had a daughter, Alex, who lived in New York and worked in Manhattan, a mere two blocks from what would later be known as “ground zero.”
The telephone lines were jammed with calls going in and out of New York. Aileen, repeatedly dialing, kept getting the some ominous message. “All circuits are busy now; please try again.”
She advised everyone to go home. Glory, Kate and Sophia didn’t want to leave her like this. They stayed with her, locking the doors and tending to the animals that were still in the hospital, those who were too sick to go home.
Finally, after they’d found out that Aileen’s daughter was safe; they all left the hospital to go home and be with their own families. God only knew what the kids were thinking about this horrific event. School had been let out early and while she wasn’t home, Michael was.
The entire family sat glued to the television, riveted by the scenes of wanton destruction and loss of life as the horrendous details unfolded.
They were dumbfounded when they learned that the unspeakable chain of events had begun at Portland International Jetport in Portland, Maine a mere forty-five minutes from their home! Flights Eleven and One-Seventy-Five had departed from Logan International Airport, which was a short distance from where Glory had grown up.
As the morning wore on, the FAA was informed that two more planes, Flight Ninety-Three and Flight Seventy-Seven had also been hijacked. All four flights were originally headed to California to insure that the planes had full tanks of fuel. The attack could have only been expedited by careful, long term planning.
In the early afternoon, President Bush put the US Military on Threat Condition Delta, worldwide high alert.
However, on this particular day NORAD was participating in a week long exercise known as “Vigilant Guardian,” therefore, they were already on high alert. Still, they were unsure if the attack was real or simulated.
In the late afternoon, the towers collapsed, taking all those that remained in the buildings, including many fire fighters and police personnel, down with them.
Americans stared in utter shock at a sight they never should have seen. But there it was. The evil that was brought down on United States, going right past their very home, traveling on Interstate 95, the very road Glory and Michael traveled each day to go to and from work.
At six o’clock p.m., Members of Congress joined on the steps of the U.S. Capitol building and sang “God Bless America.”
That night, everyone went to bed knowing they lived in a different reality, a reality in which America had been capable of being attacked.
The hatred of these terrorists toward the United States formed into a twisted notion of nobility, believing it was God’s own will that drove them. That God could possibly condone this evil was incomprehensible.
History taught that much evil has been done in the name of God, but now it was felt firsthand in all its twisted ideology. The wisdom of it was unimaginable. Persecution of those with different religious beliefs was certainly nothing new or unique. What was unique was that the United States, a powerful and privileged country, could have this happen to them.
Evil took on many forms, as an ordinary day turned into a calculated and horrific act toward the people of a great country.
In the days that followed, Americans showed their patriotism by flying flags, putting up red, white and blue lighting on their homes, and wearing these colors at home, work and play.
People were kinder to one another afterwards. The reality penetrated that it could have been any one of them just going to work on a normal day, forced to live a nightmare that resulted in the death and loss of so many.
This was the Pearl Harbor of their generation. Was this perhaps the singular event, the catalyst for the path the United States found itself upon in later years? Who could say really?
Chapter 8
The years flew steadily along. Glory still spent many a night, lying awake, still having her bouts with Thantaphobia. Now she no longer spoke of it, not even to Michael, afraid that she’d be committed if anyone found out what went on in her head. And he had his own problems right now just being a cop in a changing world. Instead, she focused most of her attention on her children.
Olivia and Mickey, born of imperfect parents but touched by God’s own perfection, brought her and Michael much joy and sorrow, as children do. Glory contemplated just how much hope was tied up in humanity’s offspring.
She wouldn’t trade any of it for the entire world. The minutes of joy at each accomplishment which helped to shape their
character were worth the hours of inevitable heartbreak that came with raising children.
Olivia, now age sixteen, so delicately framed, was as beautiful as any angel in heaven. Her slender fingers, her large, soulful brown eyes, the lashes long and curled by nature, and her flowing auburn hair were her best features. At times, when the brightest sun of the day reached her hair, single strands throughout resembled fine spun gold. Her beauty was matched by a heart that loved fiercely and was hurt easily.
She was Glory’s treasure. Her temperament was more like Michael’s than Glory’s, calm and patient with all things. Her love for animals pleased Glory, giving them something in common. Olivia hoped one day to become a veterinarian.
Mickey, who was going on twenty and going to college, majoring in Criminal Justice, was hell on wheels. He was a very intense young man with a fiery temper and a quick mind. Tall, like his father, he had the same beautiful eyes and long lashes as Michael, yet they flashed with the passions of his emotions. Just like Glory’s. His heart was built on honor. He wanted to become a cop, just like his dad. Always outspoken, he said what he meant and meant what he said.
He had two great passions in his life—music and cars. From a very early age, he had been able to hear a song and play it on the piano, and was reading sheet music at the age of eight.
One of Glory’s favorite memories of him was when he was sixteen years old. Seeing him under the hood of his car while Chopin or Mozart and sometimes rock and roll were blaring out of the portable stereo system he’d put on the back deck of their home.
He was their difficult child. As strong willed as Glory herself, they clashed on many occasions with Michael having to play referee in their fights.
Michael would shake his head after one of these screaming matches between Mickey and Glory and comment on how alike they were and that was why they fought so much.
And yet, for all of it, Glory loved them both and rejoiced that they were so different in their ways. Even with the problems Glory had with love and intimacy, she was able to love them. Often times, she was aware that without them, without Michael, she’d surely fall into the dark abyss of madness. She was bone weary most of the time, never sleeping well. The nightmares still plagued her. As the years went by, they became more vivid…and terrifying.
She never worried too much about Mickey. He was headstrong sure, but he knew when to back off.
However, she did worry about Olivia. Glory was well aware that Olivia was naïve about people and she was too trusting. Olivia simply couldn’t understand that the world was not fair, that some people did bad things to one another and always had.
“Honey,” Glory would explain, “the world never was fair and it never will be. That’s just the way it is. All we can do is try to be fair in how we deal with the people that come into our lives, and even then…we can’t predict how they’ll act.”
She didn’t like that answer and swore she would change things, even if only in her small corner of the world. Glory was proud of her altruism, yet fearful, for she knew firsthand how very cruel the world could be to those whose motives were pure.
“You should always stand up for what you believe in, no matter what the price. The cost can never be as great as the loss of your individuality.” In hindsight, she’d wished she had never uttered those words to her daughter.
“Why do terrible things happen, Mom? Does God do it? I mean, look at Sean. He’s usin’ heroin and Uncle Ted doesn’t seem to care! He’s too busy drinkin’ all the time. Every time I talk with Sean, he seems so…mixed up. Why doesn’t anyone help him?”
Olivia was referring to Glory’s brother’s boy, Sean, now also a young man. Growing up in Boston’s inner city had led him down a completely different path than Glory and Michael’s children. While her heart ached for what her nephew was turning into, she was thankful they’d made the choice to raise their children in a place where there was still beauty in the world. The harsh city streets were not like the city she and Michael had grown up in.
“We tried, honey, but he doesn’t want our help,” Glory said.
“Why can’t you an’ Dad make him move in with us?”
“I’ve talked to him about it, and he insists he’d go crazy of boredom here in Maine. Besides, Uncle Ted would never allow it, you know that.”
“Well, I sure won’t turn my back on him, even though it seems the rest of our family has! I know Uncle Ted is a lousy brother, and father too, but, it’s not Sean’s fault the way his father is.”
“Just be careful, Olivia. Understand that it’s not up to you to fix. You can’t fix someone if they don’t believe they’re broken. You’re helping him by listening, just…be cautious. I know what I’m sayin’ from experience. As much as I wanted my parents to stop drinking, I couldn’t make them stop. Believe me, I tried, and hoped for it to happen. It never did. I love you for wanting to help, but just don’t let him drag you down with him is all I’m sayin’. Do you understand?” Glory asked. She looked solemnly into Olivia’s eyes.
“Yeah, I get it.”
Addiction was a dark and twisted road. The addict had the uncanny ability to pull everyone around them into their world. Glory knew firsthand about the insidious ways they dragged a person in, tugging at her or her very humanity. Making one feel guilty for walking away. They could be utterly narcissistic and highly manipulative when it suited their purpose. They often did not care how their actions affected others.
While she hoped Sean would get help, she wanted him to do it himself. Glory didn’t want her daughter to get wrapped up in it. If that was selfish of her, then so be it. After all, it was her job to protect her children.
Michael was mostly unaware of what was going on between Olivia and Sean. Glory was ashamed of her family and rarely spoke about them. He was working so much overtime these days as the crime rate subtly began to climb in Cliff’s End. He was hardly ever home.
Still, he was a great dad. He’d coached Mickey’s little league team for years, bringing them a championship more than once. Olivia had his heart. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for his “little girl.”
Maine was noted as one of the most peaceful states in the entire country. The crime rate was low, jobs plentiful. Cliff’s End, as well as many of the southern Maine towns, bordered on the New Hampshire line, where many worked.
Michael and Glory both were taken aback that crime dared to show its ugly head amongst the beauty inherent in their home of choice.
“If it’s getting’ bad here, imagine what Boston must be like now.” Michael sighed. The job was starting to wear on him and she feared for his safety. That was why she didn’t tell him about her concerns about their daughter. What if he was distracted out there and, consequently, let his guard down and was killed?
Glory was silent. She knew she had to speak to Olivia soon, tell her she couldn’t go to Boston anymore. Between Sean’s problems and the crime, she was not safe!
Times were most definitely changing, and not for the better.
If she felt Olivia was in danger, she’d be forced to tell Michael, like it or not. Neither Glory nor Michael had been to Boston in years. After Glory’s mother died, there was no reason to go back.
As for Mickey, he didn’t care about the situation in Boston one way or the other. Whenever Sean’s name was brought up, his only comment was, “What a waste.”
In his spare time, when Mickey wasn’t tinkering with cars or hanging out with his friends, he visited his Nana Joan. Their relationship was a special one. She loved Olivia just as much, but in a different way. As far as she was concerned, the sun rose and set on him.
He spent many hours after school and weekends at her home, helping her do little things, taking her for what she called “thrill” rides, commenting that Mickey had “a lead foot.”
Sometimes, when Glory stopped in on her way home from work, they’d be having a lively game of cards, which she could never seem to win! Joan was an important member of the family.
Hav
ing grown up in Boston, from an Italian Catholic family, it was imperative to her that elders were included, not ignored as she’d seen others do. Family was paramount to Italians.
Even though her parents and brother were addicts and had hurt her in so many ways, they were not the norm. Still, her mother prayed to the statue of the Madonna and insisted they respect their elders. Nothing made Glory happier than sitting back and watching her own family.
One lovely day in May; the kind one revels in after the seemingly endless Maine winters, Mickey came home with a peculiar look on his face. Glory couldn’t read it and he did not speak. He hovered around her as she prepared dinner, fiddling with utensils on the counter, shifting from leg to leg. He seemed restless, unsure of how to approach what was on his mind. The look on his face sent a shiver up Glory’s spine. Call it female intuition or just plain anxiety, she knew whatever he needed to talk about was probably not something she wanted to hear.
“Okay, what’s up?” Glory put the paring knife down, her hands on her hips.
“I…don’t know. I think something may be wrong with Nana.” He sounded scared.
“Yeah, she’s got a cold she can’t seem to shake. I know that.”
“Mom, it’s more than that. You haven’t been down there for almost a week. I have. I think you and Dad beddah go check on her.”
“Lemme call her first. Would that make you feel beddah?”
“She won’t answer the phone. She told me it took her two hours to get from the kitchen chair to the bathroom ‘cause she was out of breath.”
“What?” Glory was floored! This was the first she’d heard of this, but she knew that Joan wouldn’t call anyone for help unless it was a matter of life and death, and even then she took pride in being strong willed, able bodied, and independent.
A typical Maine Yankee, born and bred “Down East,” she’d grown up on a farm and was used to hard work and self-sufficiency.
She could be extremely stubborn, refusing to accept help from even Michael and Glory.
The Wisdom of Evil Page 5